


Poor

by Quicksilvermad



Series: 100 Themes [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Anniversary, F/M, Surfing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermad/pseuds/Quicksilvermad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>#002: Sometimes a man needs a change of place to get out of a poor mood.</p><p>For the 100 Themes Challenge over on LJ (at the Pepperony100 community)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poor

It had been three weeks since Tony’s admission to the press (thanks to that nosy Christine “I can’t follow simple verbal instructions” Everhart) and Pepper was irritated to find that he was once again holed up in the work shop.

For once, as she walked through the broken doorway, her boss was not fiddling with some wiring or fixing a new bullet hole in his armor.

Instead, he was working on his hot rod in silence.  No loud music, no mumblings about what needed tweaking where, no conversations with Jarvis…  Just oppressive silence.

“Tony?”

He glanced up at her from the gasket head in his hands.  “Huh?”

“How long have you been—” she cut herself off once she noticed his beard growth and, yes, that was the same shirt he wore yesterday.  “Did you sleep last night?” Pepper amended.

He blinked twice at her and tapped the metal with the sides of his thumbs in a staccato rhythm.  “Uh, what time is it now?”

Without breaking Tony’s bloodshot gaze, Pepper spoke towards the ceiling.  She didn’t want to risk losing his eyes to glance down at her watch.  “Jarvis?”

 _“Ten forty AM, Miss Potts,”_ Jarvis answered.  

Pepper read the flinch in Tony’s eyelids.  “You didn’t, did you?  Jesus, Tony…”

He broke their eye contact and looked down at the grease trapped beneath his fingernails.  “Slipped my mind,” he excused.

Pepper slumped against the front tire of the hot rod and shook her head.  “You need sleep, Tony.  And real food.  _And_ you need to get out of here for a bit.”

He shifted on his knees to get a better look at his assistant.  “What do you suggest?  I don’t _want_ to sleep.  I’m wide awake and I’m getting work done.”

Pepper suddenly had a vision in her head of taking a Great Dane puppy out for a run on the beach to burn all of its energy so it would quit eating the furniture.  She then wondered if Cesar Milan would consider “training” Tony.

 _That’s it.  No more “Dog Whisperer” marathons, Potts._

“Okay, I _do_ have a suggestion.”

Tony leaned his head on her knee.  “I’m all ears.”

“There are two wetsuits and two surfboards gathering dust in your rec-room.”

“Surfing?”

“If you get out of this workshop, go surfing with me, and sleep for at least twelve hours…” Pepper paused dramatically and clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder.  “I’ll make sure your schedule is clear to do whatever you feel like doing for the next week.”

“There’s a catch.”

“Oh, yes.  Always.”

“What is it?”

“You have to tell me why you are in such a poor mood.  If you don’t get it off your chest, it’s just going to fester away at your big brain.”

Tony stiffened and focused on turning Pepper’s words into his favor.  “’Fester,’ huh?  That is such a,” he pulled a comical face and stuck his tongue out, “gross sounding word.”

Pepper moved her hand from his shoulder to pinch his ear.  “Don’t change the subject.”

Tony nodded.  “Fine.  But I don’t want to talk about it inside,” he stood and dragged her to her feet.  “Outside.  When we’re in the water.”

“Deal.”

“And you have to wear a bikini under that wetsuit and hang out with me during this free week you’re promising me.”

Pepper gave him her best long-suffering look but agreed nonetheless.  

Twenty minutes later, they both sat with their legs dangling over either side of their surfboards—feet pruning in the chilly waters of the Pacific.  There weren’t any great swells to catch, but the anticipation of finding one big enough to stand up with was engaging.  The sun was climbing toward its cresting point in the sky and there wasn’t a cloud in sight.  By tomorrow, Tony would be sporting a nice tan and Pepper would resemble a radish (completely unfair in the redhead’s mind).  

“So?” she finally asked.   

“It’s been a year.”

Pepper stiffened.  It had been a year since he’d been kidnapped.  Her birthday was last week and he’d surprised her with a strange titanium necklace that’s he had obviously crafted himself.  The pendant alone was a giveaway.

She absently touched the miniaturized miniature arc reactor (say that ten times fast) that hung between her breasts under the wetsuit.  

Tony caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and smiled slightly.  “I dunno, I just felt…  Like I needed to work.”

“Without sleep?”

He shrugged and flicked at the water by his knee like a little boy.  “Memories keep coming back to me.  I didn’t sleep much then…  We were working too hard.”

Pepper said nothing—instead she kept her eyes trained on him and catalogued his body language.  Slumped shoulders…  Restless fingers…  Lips moving even after he’s spoken as if trapped words were escaping on the breath he released—soundless.

Pepper had only seen him like this once.  When she’d chucked that lock chip back on his desk and quit—Tony had transformed into this strange creature that sat beside her now.  

“I don’t want to sleep,” he finally admitted.  “I’m…”

“Afraid?”

Tony looked up from the waxed surface of his surfboard and stared at her sharply.  “I suppose.”

Pepper severed their connecting eyes and stared toward the shoreline.  The wind picked up a little and dragged strands of hair (that managed to escape her thick braid) across her lips—sticking to the SPF Chapstick she’d slathered on before paddling out with Tony.

He reached over and pulled the hair away from her mouth—tucking it behind her ear.  She smiled at this and grabbed his hand before he could go back to flicking at the water.  

“You don’t have to be afraid, Tony,” Pepper squeezed his hand.  “I’m here.”

Tony smiled, feeling his poor mood evaporate with each second he spent floating beside her.  “You’re right,” he said—the words came from the middle of his throat and he sounded half-strangled with emotion.  He squeezed her hand in response.  “You _are_ here.”

Pepper grinned.

“Now!” Tony released her hand and slapped the water—splashing Pepper and himself.  “Let’s find at least _one_ stupid wave out here.”

Pepper sighed and followed him as he paddled toward a small swell that was starting a few yards away.  As they spent the rest of the afternoon surfing and soaking up the sun in an impromptu beach nap (during which Pepper _did_ get burnt to a crisp and Tony merely tanned all but a sliver of skin surrounding his arc reactor), Pepper wondered if the outing would become as routine as Tony’s other little quirky habits.

In the following week, Tony kept his end of the bargain.  He slept through two days straight, started eating lunch with her just so she knew he was getting some form of nutrition (whether it be Cookie Crisp cereal or the same kind of pasta salad she was having), and spent less time on his own.   

Despite her peeling skin and overall uncomfortable state of being, Pepper Potts was delighted.  


End file.
